


and I'd claw at your heart, and I'd tear at your sheets

by janie_tangerine



Series: the jaimebrienne spite countdown to season eight [25]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x02 SPOILERS, Bottom Jaime Lannister, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I Blame Tumblr, I also blame bryan cogman but are we even fucking serious here, Idiots in Love, Kneeling, Knights - Freeform, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Season/Series 08, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Brienne of Tarth, Wishful Thinking (re how the battle goes), Woman on Top, season eight spoilers, the bang that was promised TM, these two assholes is2g
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 15:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18574297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: I’m not the fighter I used to be. But I’d be honored to serve under your command, if you’ll have me.





	and I'd claw at your heart, and I'd tear at your sheets

**Author's Note:**

> Or: THIS WAS NOT WHAT I WAS PLANNING FOR THIS ONE SPITEFIC BUUUUT my good friend tumblr user haljathefangirlcat watched the episode today and sent me a bunch of reactions among which there was:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> and at that point I went like fuck it i'M WRITING IT KNEW I WANTED TO THE MOMENT JAIME SAID *THAT* LINE WE SRS. so. HAVE SOME 8x02 CODA PORN, which also very very very much lovingly fits this piece of idiocy which I think is from... 2015 or 2014 better than the original plan for this fic was so here we go. anyway, HAVE IT FROM THE DARK AGES:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Says YOU, anon, says you. ;)
> 
> ANYWAY: HAVE SOME PORN WITHOUT ANY REDEEMING QUALITY OTHER THAN I FUCKING NEEDED TO WRITE IT AND I'LL NEVER SHUT UP ABOUT THIS EPISODE EVER BYE. title from Leonard Cohen (you wanna listen to I'm your man when reading this, I WON'T STOP YOU), nothing belongs to me, I'm sauntering back downwards towards the last six fics I have left to finish the spite series /o/
> 
> I DON'T KNOW GUYS I CAN'T STOP GRINNING IF I JUST THINK ABOUT THIS ONE EPISODE WE WERE BLESSED.

 

1.

 

Having survived what you thought might have been almost certain death _does_ change one’s perspective, or at least that’s what Brienne thinks the moment she realizes that for _now_ they held the undead back and for _now_ they live and for _now_ the Long Night isn’t immediately upon them.

She turns on her side, finds Jaime’s eyes — they’re bright green, his breath is short, his hand is gripping his sword’s hilt

 

( _half of hers, half of Ned Stark’s, and they just defended his castle to the last man_ )

 

so strongly she thinks it must hurt, but he’s alive and the blood on his armor

( _Robb Stark’s, or so he said laughing on the ramparts before —_ how ironic, Ser, that they dressed me in the armor of the man who took me prisoner and somehow made sure we would meet? — _and it suits him, oh does it suit him_ — it becomes you —, _she had told him, and he had grinned before they had to focus on the oncoming battle_ )

isn’t his, and the first thing she does is reach out and grab his neck, feeling his pulse under her thumb.

It’s beating, strong, _fast_ , and she feels like crying.

“Look at that,” he whispers, “most of this flank is still standing.”

“So it seems,” she blurts back, unable to believe that.

He grins wider. “Seems to me, Ser, that you might be the best commander around here yet,” and while he’s smiling there’s no jest in his words, and Brienne’s breath catches in his throat.

“I wouldn’t know, but thank you nonetheless.” She helps him up, and suddenly he’s up in her space, and —

“I know we have to check the situation,” he says, his tone suddenly dropping lower, “but — will you meet me later? Alone?”

“Of course. My quarters,” she tells him, squeezing his arm, her heart thrumming harder and harder and harder, and watches him go without the usual heaviness to her chest.

 

2.

 

She meets him outside her quarters later, a long time later, after they checked on their losses and assessed the situation, and she’s only too glad that no one who was in that room when she knelt for him died, and she opens the door for him when he says nothing the moment she shows up.

“Did you want to talk?” She asks, her throat feeling sore for how much she screamed.

He stares up at her, his eyes so bright it's almost blinding, the same stare in them from before in the hearth room, but — somehow _different_. There’s wildfire somewhere in there rather than that just soft, warm look.

She can see his throat work up and down, fast, before he takes a step closer.

“Yes,” he says, “but — it’s to rectify something I have not made quite clear in the morning.”

“… Very well,” she tells him, nodding.

“I — was about to tell you something else than what I actually did. When I told you why I came up here. I did not… lie, exactly. I just… omitted a maybe fundamental detail.”

“Tell me then,” she whispers, suddenly worried that it might be something she would hate to hear —

That is, until his left hand softly grabs hers and —

And he _kneels on the ground in front of her_.

“Jaime…?” Her voice is barely audible, even in the silence of the room.

“When I said I wasn’t the fighter I used to be, maybe I meant to say that I’m not… the _prospect_ I used to be. I mean,” he snorts, “I haven’t been for a long time, but all the same, even after you brought me back to King’s Landing it still was better than now. And when I said I’d be honored to _serve under your command if you’ll have me_ , I meant that and — that if you _really_ would have me, I would give myself over without thinking about it too much. Not when I had the entire journey to _think about it_.”

She shakes her head slightly, but her traitorous fingers grasp back at his, and he can’t mean this, he _can’t_ , not _this_ way, it’s too much and her head is feeling dizzy, but the part of her that would have laughed and asked him if he was mocking her died when he asked _her_ to kneel and and when they fought side by side and when she raised a knight as she has been dreaming of for most of her life.

“Do you mean —”

“I mean,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards but that look in his eyes uttermost serious, “that I came up here because _I love you_ , and even if you won’t have me like _that_ , let me tell you — I’ve been waiting to follow someone who actually deserved it. I couldn’t ask for anyone better than you.”

She feel tears go back to their eyes as her mouth breaks out in a grin that she hadn’t known she had in her, maybe wider than it had been before, but he’s just told her — _he’s just told her_ , and he’s looking back up at her as if he’ll take any scrap she can give him but like he’s not expecting her to say yes, and suddenly her stomach turns over in the right way, and suddenly all the ways her chest would swell or feel tight as she looked at him, all the ways her heartbeat would speed up when his eyes met hers, they all make _sense_ , and he’s still looking up at her like _that_ , and —

She leans down, shaking her head, her hands cupping his face, tilting his head up —

Maybe it’s that after what just happened in the last day she’s found within herself that courage she saw in Lady Catelyn once, or maybe it’s that after having just survived what they did all of the objections she might have had previously have disappeared, she doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter, not when he has such a hopeful, open look on his face, and when he’s only asking her something she never even dared dreaming could be within her grasp.

“S — _Jaime_ ,” she says, noticing how he gasps when she only uses his name, “I would be the one who’s honored to have you, in _any_ way.” Then she leans down, and for a moment she thinks, _should I ask_ , but his lips are parted and his eyes are brimming with unshed tears the way _hers_ might have been when he asked her to kneel, and she thinks, _might it be that I’m giving him what he gave me before?_ , as outlandish as such a thing might have seemed a lifetime ago.

She kisses him.

He immediately kisses her back, his left hand grasping at her hip, clutching at her skirt, and then she drops to her knees as well to have a better angle, and she’s sure it shows that she has no skills in this field and no one’s ever kissed her before, but more than feeling inadequate right now she’s thinking _then I’ll learn_ , and the way he moans into it and his hand still clutches at her side, she knows she’s not doing it wrong.

“Then I’m yours,” he croaks as soon as they part for air. “Until we die in this war, I suppose, and after, if by chance we don’t.”

It’s the easiest thing in the world to tilt his head up again so she can meet his eyes and whisper, _I am, too_.

 

3.

 

It’s not like Brienne has _never_ given thought to losing her maidenhead or her first time bedding a man, period. She _did_ , but not often, because she had always somehow assumed it wasn’t a thing that was in the cards for her.

Same as becoming a knight for real, except that it _was_ in the cards, wasn’t it?

All the times she had dared think about it, it somehow turned into a less than satisfactory fantasy in which whoever was above her would at least look at her in the eyes as he took it. It used to be Renly. It had been Jaime a few times, but she never let herself linger on _that_ too much, because in which world would _she_ ever be with _him_ , when he’s only ever had the most beautiful woman in the all of the realms for his entire life, as much as he did say that it was only on the outside and that he loved the person he wanted her to be more than anything else.

But _this_ is nowhere like the lackluster scenarios her imagination had provided, and for that matter he’s not even above her.

He had told her to stand, before, and stayed on his knees as she did, and then he had unlaced her breeches with his left hand and pulled them down along with her smallclothes, and told her to sit on the bed, and —

Brienne will never forget the way he had leaned down without hesitation in between her legs, nor how his mouth found her cunt nor how he kissed it with the same fervor he had kissed her lips before, nor how his tongue had licked at it and two of his fingers had slipped inside her as he did, nor how his left hand was shaking slightly as it touched her as if he couldn’t believe it was really happening, nor how his beard pleasurably burned along her inner thigh as he brought her off, taking his time, nor how he had stopped and moaned loudly when she reached down and grasped at his hair, encouraging him to go faster and _faster_ , until she had peaked more strongly than she ever did when she only used her own hand and would think of Jaime’s scarred, wet flesh at Harrenhal, at how he had felt _right_ inside her arms when he fell into them.

She had caught her breath, feeling dazed and grinning in a way that just felt strange, gods, _has she smiled more in the last two days than in her entire life_?, maybe she has, and had looked down at him, her fingers running over his scalp, feeling him lean into the touch.

“You haven’t —” She had said, looking down at him and noticing that he _was_ hard, which had in turn made her head spin because gods, that doesn’t happen, men don’t react to _her_ like that.

“That was for you,” he had croaked, still looking up at her with those bright eyes, licking his lips, and her throat had gone dry at once as she shook his head.

“If _I_ am commanding here,” she had said, suddenly finding that woman’s courage _again_ , “I would not have you wanting. Besides,” and she had known she was blushing hard red, but she held his stare as she admitted quietly, “I have — I’ve wanted you for a very long time. I wouldn’t have you stop at that.”

He had _still_ been looking at her as if she was bestowing some kind of enormous gift on him.

“Then ask,” he had whispered, “or take. As you wish.”

She had dared imagining to undress him once, and so she had, helping him out of his shirt and unlacing his own breeches, giving him a hand to stand up before asking him to sit on the bed as he had asked her before, and now she’s standing as she takes off the golden hand — it looks heavy and uncomfortable and given how long they stood in the cold before it must hurt, and from the way he breathes in relief as she removes the straps she knows she was right. She puts it on the nightstand, immediately forgetting it in favor of raising his wrist up and kissing it — he makes a noise in the back of his throat that surprises her for a moment as she does, but it wasn’t… the bad kind of. She does it again, and again, and then she leans down, kissing him again as they move so that he’s lying down properly on the mattress, and when he opens his eyes again they’re more pupil than wildfire, and he kisses her palm the moment her other hand cups his face again. She swallows, moving it away, her hands roaming down his chest, touching scars and hard muscles and realizing that he did take the time to bathe before finding her, which somehow hadn’t been a thing she’d noticed, not as adrenaline took hold of her before.

And — gods, he’s just so — she doesn’t even know how to put it into words, but he leans into her hands at each single touch, and he doesn’t try to be silent, and the way he says her name as she experimentally leans down and kisses old scars into his skin makes her burn in between her legs, and he’s looking straight at her as if he wants no one else and he’s thinking about no one else, and when she experimentally takes him in hand he about lets out a half-scream that most surely anyone in the hallway hears, and the fact that it’s because of _her_ is making her blood boil hotter than that battle had.

Gods, she doesn’t know what she should do now as a sudden thought comes to her and she realizes that there’s _nothing_ she wouldn’t want to try, not now that she can and he obviously wants her, but they did buy some time and they’ll live for now, and she wants him inside her _now_ , and so she leans back and parts her legs wider, entirely conscious of how wet she is in between her legs, and she puts to memory his expression the moment she sinks down on him, his left hand grasping at her back again.

“Fuck,” he moans, “I — you didn’t have to if —”

She knows what he’s meaning to say.

She also doesn’t care.

“I can’t imagine anything worthier,” she whispers, holding his head back up, a hand behind his neck and another going behind his shoulders as she experimentally rolls her hips and he gasps, holding him closer, “than giving my _virtue_ to the first and almost only person who ever respected it.”

He clasps at her back, his hips arching upwards, but he’s not trying to get the upper hand.

Not at all.

It sends a rush of blood downwards, where it’s aching in between her legs and where he’s hard inside her and she’s clenching around him.

She cants her hips downwards once, twice, trying to see if she can make sure his cock finds that place his fingers did _before_ , and he realizes it because he follows her movements as she gets adjusted, until it suddenly _works_ , and she screams harder than he had before as she sinks down on him again and _again_ , and now she gets why all the songs make it a big deal and why her septa and everyone else she discussed this with was definitely lying, but then it doesn’t matter anymore because his head is tilted upwards as if he wants her to lean down and kiss him again and she _does_ , holding him up so she can bring him closer and _closer_ , almost like she had in that bath, except that then he had fainted and his skin was clammy and cold and his eyes were haunted. Now those same eyes are all wildfire all over again, his mouth is kiss-swollen and he’s arching into her hands and fucking into her like they were made to fit together and he’s turning into a mess of curses and moans that sound like music to her ears and that she wants to hear all over again until they can make time for it. He’s right there on her bed, her furs, arching into her touch like he can’t get enough, coming alive under her fingers, and she feels a rush that she had thought might only come wielding a sword.

But — no. She’s giving him pleasure same as he had given her before, and he’s wholly enjoying it, _loudly_ , and he’s looked at her this entire time as if _she_ was something beautiful and precious to stare at, as if _he_ wouldn’t be to her, and it’s not awkward or a sad affair — for maybe the first time in her life she feels like she could do _anything_ even if she has no weapons in her hands and she’s not fighting men with a sword nor any kind of war, and she’s doing that with her hands and her legs and that body no one else ever wanted, except that Jaime _does_ and she can’t tell herself he might not.

Not when he’s calling her name all over as she leans down and trails kisses over his cheekbones, over his forehead and over his temple as she keeps on riding him, not as he’s telling her that she’s everything he ever imagined and _more_ —

 

( _wait, has he thought about this, too, with_ her _?_ )

 

— and he’s trembling with pleasure inside her arms.

“Hells,” he moans, obviously close, but she is, too, she can feel it, she can feel it all the way down to her bones. “ _Hells_ , you’re — I didn’t dare hope —”

“Because you think _I_ did?” She blurts, looking down at him, feeling her heart swell as she stares at his red, kiss-swollen mouth and his wide, bright _bright_ eyes, her hand carding through his hair again as he leans against it and groans in approval. “Gods, Jaime, _Jaime_ , I —”

“I’m close,” he groans, “you should —”

She knows what he means, but —

She also knows there’s moon tea somewhere around Winterfell and she can’t lean back now. She _can’t_ —

She shakes her head. “No, I want you,” she says, “I want _you_ , do it, I don’t care.”

He gasps, and then she feels the moment he goes still for a moment before he arches back up again as she rolls her hips downwards again and spills inside her, screaming her name loud enough that she feels like the dead in the crypts should have heard it, and she leans down and kisses him as she feels her own pleasure build up inside her and hit her anew, her arms still holding him close, her size suddenly not something she feels ashamed of nor ruining the moment nor anything. She doesn’t need to be small and soft and with smooth hands to make him feel like this, and she _couldn’t_ do half of what she’s doing right now if she was, and she wouldn’t be an anointed knight if she was, and gods, _gods_ but maybe she can have _both_ things and isn’t the thought sweet, and she could never have known if it wasn’t for Jaime, and with that thought she screams his name, too, as she keeps on riding him until he’s spent, and after that she opens her eyes, breathing heavily before her mouth finds his cheek and his temple and his brows again.

Gods.

She _can_ have him now, she realizes fully, and so she can kiss him however much she wants and wherever she wants and he can do the same with her and there’s nothing else she thinks she might want more now, not with what she’s just been given.

She opens her eyes, looking back down at him as she slips off him, but doesn’t move from her position. He’s smiling up at her in _that_ same way, as if there’s no better sight than the one in front of him right now. “Ser Jaime,” she says, feeling her cheeks redden.

“ _Ser_ Brienne,” he smiles back. “I should hope it was an adequate _loss of virtue_ , or I could never live with myself.”

She laughs, unable to keep it in, not even _trying_ to reign it in.

“I think,” she says, climbing to his side, drawing him close, her heart skipping a beat when he settles inside her arms without even blinking, “that you haven’t disappointed me in a very long time and this is not breaking the chain.”

He snorts, throwing a leg over hers. “Guess what, you might be the one person who could say that about me, but — it’s good to hear.” It’s obvious it’s not the entirety of it, but then she shakes her head and reaches for his right wrist, bringing it between them.

His eyes go wide. “Wait,” he says, “should I go? I mean —”

“Jaime,” she says, suddenly realizing the weight for _him_ of what she might be about to say, “I think you know I mean what I say. I said I would have you. I didn’t say _I will have you when other people might not see_. You can stay. I want you to stay. As long as you would like to.”

His eyes are wet when he moves so close, they’d be kissing if she moved half an inch. “And what if I never planned on leaving?”

“I say that whoever’s _under my command_ shall always have a place at my hearth,” she tells him, and a moment later his mouth is on hers and she’s bringing him close and holding him to her close enough she’s sure it has to hurt but he doesn’t complain, he just whispers _yes_ and _please_ and _I love you_ inside her mouth, and she has to lean back and tell him because she actually _hasn’t_ , and his face when she tells him she’s loved him, too, for a very long time is the most beautiful she thinks she’s ever laid eyes upon.

She tells him.

“Guess what,” he whispers, “I could say the same.”

And — years ago, she’d have scoffed and thought that he was lying for her sake.

Now?

Now —

Now, she believes him.

 

 

End.


End file.
